


I'd like to tell you everything I see

by suzukiblu



Category: Creepypasta - Fandom, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Slender Man Mythos, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Darcy Lewis can't lose, Gen, Post-Thor: The Dark World, Stalking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:00:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26867032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suzukiblu/pseuds/suzukiblu
Summary: Darcy doesn’t even notice when it starts.
Relationships: Jane Foster & Darcy Lewis
Comments: 14
Kudos: 140





	I'd like to tell you everything I see

**Author's Note:**

  * For [beckyh2112](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beckyh2112/gifts).



> Written for beckyh2112, who wanted Darcy vs. Slenderman.

Darcy doesn’t even notice when it starts, because it starts with her catching a glimpse of strange movement out of the corner of her eye and looking over to find nothing but empty trees. She frowns, cocking her head, and then Jane coughs and regains her attention, and she goes back to setting up the weird science-y _thing_ they’re in the middle of setting up at the edge of the woods. It has a name, definitely, which Darcy has equally definitely forgotten, and they spend the rest of the night pointing it at the sky and reading over its outputs and adjusting all its little knobs and dials. It’s a pretty boring night, to be honest, compared to the potentially world-ending stuff they could probably be doing instead. 

That’s when it starts, though. 

.

.

.

“Crap,” Jane says, and Darcy looks up from her phone to find her looking woozy and bleeding all down her face on the other side of the picnic table. 

“Jane!” she says in alarm. 

“I’m fine,” Jane says, wiping at the blood under her nose. “Do you have a tissue?” 

“Yeah, hang on,” Darcy says, and pats through her pockets and then her purse in search of one. She knows she has a pack _somewhere_. At least, she'd better—that's a _lot_ of blood. Jane starts coughing a bit, too, which really doesn’t help with the whole . . . with all the bleeding, and how everywhere it’s getting. 

Darcy digs up _several_ tissues and helps Jane stop the nosebleed, and Jane starts talking about her next project while she’s still bleeding all down her face, and there’s nothing really concerning about it. She might be getting sick, but Darcy knows how to deal with that, obviously. She’s dragged Jane through way worse than a cough, and there’s nothing that weird about a random nosebleed, nosebleeds happen all the time. 

So she still doesn’t realize it’s started. 

.

.

.

Darcy is alone in the parking lot out back of their latest borrowed lab, flipping through her keys, and the scrubby forest just behind her car is still and silent. If she were less of a city girl, she might think “too silent”, but she has her earbuds in anyway, so probably not. 

She gets in the car and plugs in her music, and something moves in the trees. 

She doesn’t notice, but it’s not like she’d have seen much even if she had. 

.

.

.

“The pictures you sent me are a little strange,” Ian says. Darcy hums, sticking a spoonful of yogurt in her mouth and kicking the fridge door shut behind her. The phone’s kind of staticky, but she can hear him okay. Must be going through a tunnel or something. 

“Strange?” she asks distractedly, barely even interested. “Strange” is the baseline of her life these days. Things _not_ being strange is in fact the strange thing. 

“Yeah,” he says. “There’s something . . . in them?” 

“You’re gonna have to get more specific, man,” Darcy says, taking another bite of her yogurt. It’s good yogurt. Strawberry, which is definitely her favorite. “Like, at _all_ specific. What’s in them?” 

“Uh,” he says. “Well, it’s just . . . weird. You and Jane took these out in the woods, right?” 

“S’right,” Darcy confirms. 

“It just looks like . . . a person,” Ian says slowly. “I think.” 

Darcy frowns. 

“You _think_ it looks like a person?” she asks doubtfully. 

“Kind of,” he says, sounding embarrassed. 

“Ian,” she says. “People are pretty distinctive. It’s probably just a hiker.” 

“They’re wearing a suit,” Ian says. 

“. . . they’re what now?” 

“Have you _looked_ at these yet, or . . .” 

“Not really,” Darcy says, frowning. It’s gotta be an Asgardian, right? Loki showed up out of nowhere in a suit, according to the security footage she’s seen. Of course, Loki’s _dead_ , but that just rules him out, not the rest of their rainbow-bridge neighbors. This is Bifrost-related work, after all, so who else would care? “So what’s the guy look like?” 

“I don’t know,” Ian says. Darcy’s frown deepens. 

“You just said you saw him,” she says. 

“I saw _something_ ,” Ian says. “It _might_ be a person.” 

“They’re wearing a suit, dude, I don’t think it’s Bigfoot,” Darcy says dryly. 

“You should really look at these,” he says. 

.

.

.

So Darcy looks, obviously. 

.

.

.

The pictures are actually not that great; dark and blurry and badly lit. Darcy’s definitely taken better ones, she will be the first to admit. She hadn’t realized how bad they were sending them off, actually, or she would’ve just called the night a wash and been done with it. Look, in her defense, Jane still has that awful cough and that was more concerning than their umpteenth set of photos of their rainbow-bridge-reading setup. 

It takes a few photos before she figures out what the hell Ian’s talking about, though, because it really _doesn’t_ look like a person. It is one, definitely, just . . . it doesn’t look like one. 

The messed-up photos have to be warping it, Darcy thinks, peering closer at the distant figure in the trees. It’s blurry and badly lit, but it looks way too tall and skinny to be a human. Or, well, it’s some creepy alien something-or-other, which is admittedly also a strong possibility, given their lives. 

It really does look like it’s wearing a suit, weirdly enough. They set up this equipment in the middle of the woods for a reason, but apparently the “keeping freaky strangers from fucking with it” mission was not a success this time. Jane’s already told her all the readings from that night were shit. Probably the guy came over as soon as they left and fucked around with the settings or something. 

Ugh. This is what she gets for not paying better attention. Darcy does vaguely remember noticing movement out of the corner of her eye a few times that night, which is a much creepier memory in retrospect, considering, and she sighs to herself and tears the photo in her hands in half. 

Well, call that night a wash, she guesses. They’ll need a new site for their recordings now. 

.

.

.

They get a new site. 

.

.

.

“Darcy,” Jane says, frowning at the photos on her tablet. “Is this a . . . person?” 

.

.

.

Darcy is feeling stalked, because apparently they’re being stalked. She wishes Thor weren’t off-world but, well, pepper spray and tasers were invented for a reason. Whether or not they’re being stalked by a creepy alien that those things might not _work_ on, now . . . 

She goes back through last week’s photos, paying careful attention to the trees, and a weird chill goes up her spine. The figure’s blurry, again, but . . . 

Yeah. There’s no mistaking that silhouette. 

She stays late, and goes to the week before’s. And the week before that’s. And the week before _that’s_. And— 

Probably she needs to tell Jane about this. 

.

.

.

“Jane,” Darcy says as the other picks up the phone, glancing around the parking lot warily as she hurries towards her car. She is not gonna be dumb enough to dawdle in a dark parking lot when there’s a freaky alien stranger creeping on their shit. 

“Darcy?” Jane says. The connection’s bad, which just fucking figures, Darcy thinks, jamming her keys into the car door. 

“We have a problem,” she says tersely. “Been looking through the photos.” 

“What’s wrong with the photos?” Jane asks. 

“Oh, the photos are very much _not_ the issue here,” Darcy says as she yanks the door open and slides into the car. She locks all the doors. _Immediately_. “Except for how that dude’s in all of them.” 

“What?” Jane says, sounding alarmed. 

“All of them,” Darcy repeats, starting the engine. She looks up, and immediately screams. There’s a too-tall figure just standing in her headlights, more shadow than substance, and she drops her phone and goes with her instincts, which are to slam the gas and drive directly into the damn thing. 

“Darcy!” Jane says, but Darcy’s too busy peeling out of the parking lot at high speed to answer her. There was no impact when the car hit the figure—no figure there to be hit at all—and she is officially _done_ with aliens. Fuck aliens. Not even in the fun way. Thor can be the exception to prove the rule but everyone else who comes from another planet? Is clearly the _worst_. 

Also, she’s terrified now, so that sucks. 

_“Darcy!”_ Jane says, her voice distorted and staticky, and Darcy looks in her rearview mirror. There’s a lanky figure folded into the backseat of her car, sitting there calmly and wearing a dull black suit and a completely blank face. 

As in, there’s no face. 

She screams again. The figure leans forward, and Darcy drives into a lamppost. The airbag bursts out of the steering wheel and nearly smothers her, and she scrabbles desperately at her seatbelt. 

The figure isn’t even jostled, and reaches out. 

“Oh, _fuck_ you,” Darcy manages to gasp out, and jams her taser into his hand in the moment before it can touch her shoulder. His hand spasms—spasms in a way that just looks _wrong_ —and inky darkness bursts into the back of the car, blacking out the windows and somehow _thrashing_. Darcy’s never seen darkness thrash before, but it’s unmistakably what’s happening. 

She gets her seatbelt off. She shoves open the car door. A black tendril of _something_ lashes out from the backseat and strikes the airbag just past her head, piercing through it sharp as a knife. She can’t hear Jane anymore, just deafeningly loud static. 

Darcy falls out of the car and runs for it, because she’s not an _idiot_ , and doesn’t look back. She’s not going to be that moron in the horror movie who looks back and trips over their own damn feet and breaks a fucking ankle. Not happening. Not happening at _all_. 

There’s another lamppost ahead. There’s a man standing under it. 

A man who’s too tall, and too thin, and . . . 

Fuck. 

Her taser only has two shots. She’s nowhere near anyone who can help her. There’s not even anyone on the street at all. 

The man under the lamppost doesn’t move. _He_ doesn’t move, but the shadows around him—they do. They’re long and skinny and sharp, all blossoming out from him, and they wave in the air and on the sidewalk like tentacles waiting to grab prey. 

Darcy skids to a stop and turns around to run the other way, and he’s standing directly behind her, looming over her too tall and too thin and _terrifying_ , in impossibly close. 

She could scream again, probably, but her instincts do what they always do, and she tases him instead.

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr!](http://suzukiblu.tumblr.com/)


End file.
